


After the Dam

by ArticleOfObfuscation



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Any Additional Tags Would Be Spoilers, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArticleOfObfuscation/pseuds/ArticleOfObfuscation
Summary: Alicia Clark wakes up on a riverbank after the explosion at the dam, completely alone. She must find a way to survive the new world and come to terms with who she has become.Canon divergent from the space between 3x16 and 4x01. No time jump. No Diamond.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dissatisfied with the drastic changes made in season 4, I decided to write this: my continuation of season three's story. This is my first time writing fan fiction as well as my first time really writing fiction of any kind, but I'm excited to see what it's like. If you're looking for a lot of romance, this may not be the story for you. Who knows, though. I may decide to try it. Hope you enjoy.

Alicia Clark awoke lying in the bottom of the zodiac, wincing at the pounding in her head and the sharp cold of her denim jacket. She was alive. Good. She felt the gentle pull of the current and heard a rhythmic knocking sound. On opening her eyes, she was assaulted by the piercing sunlight. She heard a chorus of raspy moans to her right and was instantly alert. Not good. Stumbling to her feet on the unsteady ground of the raft, Alicia frantically searched her surroundings but didn’t see any Dead. She checked her pockets, came up with her butterfly knife, and opened it, ready to defend herself. Still, she saw nothing. She looked around more. She was on the bank of a river, maybe three feet from the shore. The raft wasn’t moving. It appeared to be stuck against the supporting structure of a bridge. Shit. Alicia looked up and saw several of the Dead, at least half a dozen, pushing against the railing of the bridge, moaning, snapping their jaws, attempting to reach her. Bad. They were about fifteen feet above her, but she knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long. She looked around and finally realized something else: she was alone. No Mom, no Strand, no one. Very bad.

Alone was not good, but Alicia had more pressing concerns. Concerns like the half dozen Infected currently trying to eat her. She needed to get away. She tried to start the zodiac’s engine, but she ran into a slight problem. There was no engine to start; it was completely gone. Where it went, she didn’t know, but she didn’t have time to wonder. The Dead would break that barrier eventually. Alicia could already see the metal bending. She checked the rest of the boat, but there was nothing useful. No weapons, no food, no water. For the first time, Alicia really looked at her surroundings, looked for a place to go. She could see the tops of houses over the steep riverbank, so the river must run through a town. How large it was, she didn’t know; how safe it was, she didn’t know, but, as the Dead pressed against the creaking barrier, promising a slow and painful death, Alicia only saw one option: she would have to brave the unknown.

Alicia climbed out of the zodiac into the water, which was, luckily, only a couple feet deep at that point. She waded to the sandy bank and traversed incline, revealing a line of clay brick houses, their porches facing the river. Some had picnic tables, some had pergolas, some had bikes in the front yards. It was really quite pleasant if you could ignore the bloodstained concrete, smashed windows, and encroaching, half-eaten abominations of nature, hellbent on consuming your flesh. Alicia couldn’t. There were at least a dozen Dead lining the street, far too many to fight. They lurched toward her, stumbling over curbs and broken limbs, reaching out with gnarled fingers. She couldn’t stay there. She ran down the street along the river, leaving the Dead in her wake.

After about a minute of running, Alicia looked back. She had lost the Dead, and no more had appeared. Now, though, she had a new problem: she was  _ thirsty. _ She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything to drink, so it was probably not recent enough. Thinking about it, she didn’t even know how long she’d been in the raft. She slowed to a walk and started examining the houses as she passed them. Most had fences, but they were either open or damaged. Open fences meant Dead, and Alicia was ill equipped to deal with them at that moment. All she had was her butterfly knife, and she was alone. At the first house with an intact fence, Alicia stopped. It was a two story house, complete with a concrete walkway to the front door and a bike in the front yard. She peered through the fence, looking for any signs of a breach. There were none. Inside the perimeter was oddly pristine. There was no blood. There were no bodies, no dead, and Alicia couldn’t hear anything. Satisfied that it was relatively safe inside, she used a nearby picnic table to scale the fence, landing with a loud  _ smack  _ on the pavement. 

The house looked just as good from inside the fence as outside. There was no way Alicia was this lucky. Was there? There had to be some nasty surprise waiting for her inside; things just went that way nowadays. She cautiously approached the front of the house, ears alert, and peered through a very dirty window. Predictably, there were no lights on inside. Alicia didn’t know what she expected. A stack of corpses? A swarm of the dead? There were none of those things inside. It was just a house. The window she was looking through led to a kitchen, and in that kitchen she could see things on the counter. All the regular kitchen stuff that’s useless now, as well as some empty cans of food, a few knives, and  _ water _ . There was bottled water sitting on the kitchen counter.

Her enthusiasm inflamed, Alicia went to the front door and tried the doorknob, letting out a small gasp when she found it unlocked. She couldn’t believe her luck. She slowly opened the door, her senses alert for any signs of Undead occupancy. As she moved through the house, she didn’t find any. The front door opened into a split kitchen/dining room with a doorway and a large interior window frame that led to a spacious family room. The narrow stairs to the second floor were directly in front of the front door, encased by walls on both sides. Entering the house and locking the door behind her, Alicia moved through the first floor, knife drawn, checking for signs of Infected. She didn’t find any, but she did spot unopened cans of food in the dining room. Before checking the second floor, she went to the kitchen and tried the sink. Nothing came out, so she retrieved one of the plastic water bottles she saw, draining half its contents in one gulp. Probably not the best idea, but she was thirsty and probably dehydrated.

As Alicia ascended to the second floor, it occurred to her how uncannily clean the entire house was. Maybe someone lived there once. Maybe someone currently lived there. She needed to find out.

The second floor consisted of two small bedrooms, a bathroom, and two doors that Alicia couldn’t open. One of these inaccessible doors was locked; the other, judging by the monstrous growls and gnashing of teeth that erupted from behind the door when Alicia knocked on it, contained a Dead person. Guess Alicia figured out what happened to the previous occupant. She left the locked rooms alone and went downstairs.

Sat on the couch in the living room, Alicia finally had a moment to stop and think. It was then that she first realized how scared she was, how her hands shook. Where were Strand and her mom? Why was she in the boat alone? What happened at the dam was ridiculous, completely ridiculous! Proctor was going to kill Nick? For what? He could’ve just as easily not tried to kill Nick. If he’d done that, he would’ve survived. Oh... God, Alicia realized for the first time.  _ Nick. _ He was on the dam when it exploded. Hell, he blew the damn thing up. Nick was dead. As dead as Proctor. The entire dam went up. Sure, Alicia didn’t see him die, but the entire dam went up, and Nick was on top of it. There’s no way that he could’ve survived. Alicia’s breath quickened, and her eyes teared up. She curled into a ball on the small couch seat and sobbed. She cried for her brother, and she cried for her mother, but mostly, she cried because she was alone.

* * *

Alicia found some useful things while searching the house. She found a backpack (not particularly large, but it had a small profile and stayed flush against her back), two good quality knives with sheaths (one on her belt, one in her boot), enough food and water for a few days (more if she was careful), sunglasses to protect her eyes, and twelve nine millimeter bullets, meaning there may be a gun hidden somewhere in the house. That would be incredibly useful.

Lining the walls throughout the house, there were photos of a happy family. One of the bedrooms looked like a boy’s room. It had blue sheets on the bed, a race car pillow case, and posters of cartoons on the wall. There were toys strewn across the floor and under the bed. The boy, whoever he was, was clearly well loved. The other bedroom was half painted yellow and contained a crib and a mobile, but it was otherwise sparse. It made Alicia sad, what must’ve happened to that family.

Having searched the rest of the house and inspected the perimeter (it was secure), Alicia decided to find a way into the inaccessible rooms. The first room was easy; she just had to open the door, quickly step back, and stab the Infected through the eye with her butterfly knife. After it dropped (a man, putrid and rotting) she searched the room he was locked in. Alicia didn’t find a gun. She didn’t find anything really. He must’ve shut himself in there after being bitten. If he had a gun, why didn’t he just shoot himself?

The second room was locked and proved to be a challenge. Alicia could hear movement behind the door, but the Dead must not have heard her yet, as they weren’t trying to get through the door to eat her. Alicia managed to unlock the door using her knife (it just had a simple turn lock), but she couldn’t open it. It opened inward, and something was blocking it from the other side. Resigned to defeat, Alicia went back downstairs to eat a hearty feast of half a can of pinto beans. It had been a few hours; the sun was setting, and the dead were restless.

* * *

Looking for a place to sleep, Alicia found herself in the boy’s bedroom. The bed was a single, but Alicia was short and small. She did, however, feel strange, lying on a dead child’s bed. She didn’t even get under the covers. It just felt wrong.

* * *

Alicia was awoken by the sound of a door slamming downstairs. Holy shit. She barely had time to stand up before she heard a man call out. “Inez? Paulo?” Alicia heard the door down the hall open. Footsteps ran down the hall and down the stairs. A woman rapidly spoke, but Alicia couldn’t catch all of the Spanish.

“Someone… upstairs…” said the woman, sounding panicked. Shit. People actually lived there. Alicia needed a way out, fast. She moved into the hallway, looking for a way out. She heard rapid steps rock the staircase, coming up. A man came from the steps, brandishing a handgun, pointing it at her face, yelling something she couldn’t understand. He looked at the closet she had opened and a crestfallen look came upon his face.

“I’m sorry, I-I didn't mean to,” Alicia said in broken Spanish as she put her hands up. The man, close enough for her to touch, was of average height and build, but, at that moment, he was the most terrifying thing Alicia had ever seen, armed, threatening her, and furious.

“That was my brother... you killed my brother!” he yelled, face red with fury. It was then that Alicia understood. The man must have locked his brother in the closet after he was bitten, hoping that he would get better. Too bad for Alicia that she killed him.

“Please, stop—” Alicia said, but she couldn’t get a sentence out, he was yelling too much.

“You... my house... my food... my wife... and you killed my brother!” he screamed. The situation had clearly gone bad. Alicia couldn’t go around him in the narrow hallway. She was going to lock herself in the room behind her. She was going to get away, maybe crawl out the window in the boy’s room. Did the boy’s room have a window? It didn’t matter in the end. She never got to do any of those things. She never got to run away.

The man, enraged, swung his gun at Alicia. She ducked, thanking her fast reaction time, and grabbed for his gun. She got both her hands around it and began wrestling him for it. He only had his right hand on the gun, using the other hand to punch Alicia in the ribs. She gasped but kept her hold on the gun. Alicia planted her right foot on his leg and pushed hard, forcing them apart, taking the gun with her. It flew somewhere down the hallway behind her. She turned and crawled as fast as she could after it, but he was faster. He grabbed Alicia by the foot and pulled her back toward him, flipping her over and grabbing her around the neck.

As the man’s grip tightened, Alicia couldn’t feel anything but pain, pain in her neck, pain in her side, pain in her head. Then she started to not feel anything at all. Looking up at the man’s monstrous face, swollen red, spit flying out of his mouth, she was sure that she was going to die. She started to see stars. Desperate, she reached into her right pocket for her butterfly knife. It was there. She withdrew it, opened it, and, looking into the man’s eyes, full of rage and hate, she stabbed him in the side, twisted, and pulled her knife out. She saw his expression change from one of rage to one of pain as she stabbed and stabbed and stabbed, again and again and again. His grip loosened on her throat as his blood, sticky and warm, poured over her hands, onto her clothes. He slumped forward and his grip failed entirely.

Alicia gasped hungry, desperate breaths. The man was lying on top of her, still breathing but obviously not okay. She couldn’t roll him off of her, he was too heavy, so she pushed and pulled, eventually crawling out from under him. Alicia looked down at the man who was doing his best to look up at her. She didn’t see rage or hate in his eyes, now. What she saw was fear. Fear and sadness. She looked at the blood on her hands, on her clothes, on the floor. Looked at the wounds she had inflicted on the man. There were too many stab wounds to count, resulting in a gushing mess of lines in his side. His otherwise white shirt was dark red, stained with his own vitality. There was no fixing the damage done to him. He would die. Alicia tore her eyes away, unable to look anymore. She walked down the hallway and retrieved his gun. It was black, blocky, and the bottom was made of plastic. It said Glock on the side. She went back to the man and looked at him. He was trying to say something, but she couldn’t hear. She leaned in closer. She could hear, but she couldn’t understand. High school Spanish hadn’t prepared her for the real world. She looked at the man’s belt. He was wearing a holster for, she assumed, the gun she had just taken. She needed that, so she took it. He wheezed while she unhooked it from his belt. Then she walked into the boy’s bedroom, grabbed her backpack, entered the previously locked room (it was the master bedroom), and barricaded the door. Alicia was going to leave, she was, but she couldn’t in the night; it wasn’t safe. She would wait until morning, when it was safe. 

If only it was ever safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you'd like, leave a comment; I'll do my best to reply. I'm open to all your advice, criticism, and suggestions. I'm working on Chapter Two now, so it should be up soon. What does soon mean? I don't really know.  
> Edit: I messed up my notes, but they're fixed now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer that the last, and I tried to add more color. It would've been done almost immediately after Chapter One, but I spent quite a bit of time revising. Fair warning, I have increased this work's rating from Mature to Explicit due to the graphic depictions of violence contained within. It probably should've been rated Explicit from the beginning, but we live and we learn. Enjoy.

It wasn’t until she heard the woman’s screams that Alicia really understood what she’d done. She had been barricaded in the master bedroom for about ten minutes, and, in that time, the sun had set, and night had fallen. The woman must have come looking for her husband when he didn’t come back. What she found clearly shocked her. Through the door, Alicia heard her sharp intake of breath; then she heard the bloodcurdling scream made by the woman. It was a piercing sound, traveling through the thin bedroom door and assaulting Alicia’s eardrums. That was when a smaller set of footsteps could be heard running up the stairs. There was another scream, this one forming a word, “Papa!” Alicia’s heart sank. Then came the woman’s sobbing and pleading. Alicia couldn’t understand, but she got the point. Don’t die, please don’t die. She’d heard it before.

It was a family. Alicia looked around the bedroom and located a framed photo on a table by the bed. It contained a man, woman, and small boy, all happily smiling at a camera in front of a clay brick house. As she looked at the man in the photo, Alicia’s breath caught in her throat. It was the very same man that was strangling her only a few minutes prior. In the photo, he was radiant, grinning with his beautiful wife tucked into his side, his arm over her, his other hand on the shoulder of the boy standing in front of him. The boy couldn’t have been more than seven. Who did the man call for when he got home? Inez and Paulo? Alicia came to a chilling realization. She had just torn a family apart. She took that boy’s father away, that woman’s husband.

Her hands began to shake. She looked at them, covered in the blood of the man she had just murdered. She frantically tried to wipe the blood off on the sheets of the bed, roughly scrubbing until her hands were raw, but it was no use. The blood stuck to them, a grim reminder of what she had done. She looked at her jacket; it was completely soaked in blood. Her entire right side was. She was finding it hard to breathe. She could still hear the woman, Inez, sobbing outside. How many people had Alicia killed? She thought about the bunker. How many people did she kill that day? Eleven? God, she killed _ eleven  _ people. What about the rest of the ranch? All the people who died because she led them into a deathtrap, into a hole in the ground with no air. Was she responsible for their deaths too? She thought about Coop. He didn’t deserve to die, but he did, and she’d killed him. None of that would have ever happened if her family hadn’t taken over at the ranch. Alicia could hear the groans and wheezes of the man. He was still alive. She thought about Andrés. He didn’t deserve to die either. He’d helped Strand when he was stabbed. He was the most helpful person that Alicia had met in months. He was only in their room that night because he wanted justice for his brother. Alicia had killed him anyway. She was protecting her family. He was her first. Her mom told her that she would be okay, but she wasn’t. Not really. The walls felt like they were closing in. Her breaths were coming in short gasps. She couldn’t really rationalize it, but she dropped to the floor and crawled under the bed. Maybe it made her feel safe; maybe she wanted to hide; she didn’t know. All she knew was that she was under the bed, and that she couldn’t breathe.

* * *

Alicia started awake from her nightmare, hitting her head on the bed frame above her with a loud thud. She wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep. Wincing, she remembered her dreams. She had dreamed of the faces of all the people she’d killed, all the people she’d lost. She didn’t think too much about Chris, really. Honestly, she didn’t even consider him a loss. She and Travis, however, had bonded since the beginning of the outbreak. When he died, it was heartbreaking. She finally felt like she knew him, like he was her family, and he was taken away. Ripped from her life by someone she would later call an ally. Life was cruel sometimes. Then there was Jake. Did she love him? Alicia didn’t really know. Nevertheless, he was a good guy and didn’t deserve to die the way he did, bleeding into the dirt. There was Nick. She didn’t want to think about Nick. His death was all too fresh, too recent in her mind. It had only been a day. She didn’t even know where her mom was. She didn’t know where Strand was. They could be dead. She could never see them again.

Suddenly, Alicia remembered where she was and what had happened. She scrambled out from under the bed and stood up. Light streamed into the room from the windows. Her throat was raw, and her eyes felt puffy. Her neck was sore and tender. Alicia opened her backpack and drank some water. Her throat still hurt. Closing her backpack, Alicia noticed how eerily quiet it was in the house. Inez’s sobs were gone, as were the man’s groans. She twisted to pull her backpack on and winced at the pain in her side. Carefully, she took her bloodstained jacket off and lifted the hem of her tank top, eyes widening at the red-blue bruises from her ribs to her waist. When she poked them, pain shot through her whole torso, making her eyes tear up. She delicately lowered her shirt and looked at her jacket. She couldn’t imagine putting it back on, bloodstained as it was. She threw it into the corner of the room, hoping to never see it again.

Alicia, equipped with her backpack, crept toward the door, carefully listening for any signs of movement on the other side. Reaching the door, she pressed her ear up against it and listened. She didn’t hear anything, and, frankly, that creeped her out. Before leaving the room, Alicia drew her new gun from its holster on her hip and ejected its magazine. It contained a full seventeen bullets. Next Alicia checked the chamber. She kind of hated that she knew how to do that. How far she’d come from the scared girl she was when the Outbreak had begun. The gun was, in fact, loaded and ready to fire. Why didn’t the man just shoot her?

Alicia cleared her dresser barricade, and, gun held in front of her, she left the bedroom, slowly walking down the hall, checking each room she walked past. She didn’t know what kind of reception she would be met with after murdering Inez’s husband, and she couldn’t risk being unprepared for a violent one. When she reached the spot where she had fought with the man, she stopped dead. All that was left of their confrontation was a dark red stain on the grey carpet. A person couldn’t get back up after losing that much blood. Did Inez move him? No; there was no blood trail. Plus, Alicia doubted that Inez was strong enough to drag him; he was too heavy for her to move, so Inez probably wouldn’t be able to move him either. The hair on the back of Alicia’s neck stood up. Something was definitely wrong. She could feel it.

Descending the stairs, Alicia was hyper-alert. She was acutely aware of all the sounds she made: the rustle of her clothes, the slight rattle of cans in her backpack, her dull, carpet muffled steps. She could hear the wind; a window must’ve been open. She nearly fired her gun when she stepped and a stair creaked loudly beneath her. As she reached the final step, Alicia heard a low, raspy breathing. She knew what it was, but God… she hoped she was wrong. Stepping into the dining room, she saw the Infected. It was the man she had killed, not even decomposing. They didn’t put him down. He was leaning over the window between the dining room and the family room, reaching for something, chomping his jaws, trying to push his way through the wall that was blocking his path. This was despite the fact that there was an open doorway three feet to his right. Alicia looked down to what he was reaching for and died a little inside. The boy from the photo was sitting slumped beneath the window frame, his back against the wall as his father tried to grab him. Paulo—that was the boy’s name—looked terrible. His skin was waxy, and his too long bowl cut was plastered to his forehead. He barely acknowledged Alicia’s presence. All he did was lift his eyes toward her.

Alicia holstered her gun, drew her knife, and stepped toward the Dead man. He growled loudly and reached for her, but he couldn’t get over the window. Alicia looked into his eyes, empty and white, and thought of the man she had seen. The man who smiled in photos. The man who had kept his family safe in their home through the outbreak. The man who had tried to defend his family from an intruder. The man who hadn’t shot her. The man who she’d killed. Alicia drove the tip of her knife through his eye, putting a stop to his growling and snapping. She didn’t even know his name.

On the floor in the dining room ,behind the dead man, Alicia saw the body of a woman. She assumed that it was Inez, killed by her Dead husband. Inez was half eaten, her flesh ripped from her bones around her neck and shoulders. She had yet to rise again, so her death must be fairly recent, meaning the man’s death must have also been fairly recent.

Alicia turned her attention back to the boy on the floor. She knelt next to him and looked at him. He made eye contact and moved his lips, clearly trying to speak. Alicia leaned in close. “My mama,” he said hoarsely.

“What’s wrong?” Alicia asked, though she already knew.

“Papa bit me.” Paulo weakly raised his arm to show her the bite on the top of his forearm. 

She knew it was coming, but Alicia still gasped a little when she saw the bite. It was yellow and festering; there was nothing she could do. Well, nothing she could do to save him. She didn’t have to do it. She could’ve left him there, left and continued with her life. She would never have to worry about him again, but Alicia knew she wouldn’t leave, just like she knew that Paolo wouldn’t survive. No one ever did. She had killed him either way.

“You’ll be okay,” she said, turning the boy’s head away. “Look out the window for a minute. Tell me what you see.” Jesus, the kid couldn’t be more than nine. Alicia positioned her knife at his temple.

“I see—” Alicia slid her knife into his head as fast as she could, as painlessly as she could. 

Alicia would never forget the sound it made. The sound she’d heard too many times. Alicia thought that it sounded different when it was a live person. She couldn’t explain it if she tried, but it just sounded more final. Maybe she was imagining things. She felt bile rise in her throat, but she forced it down. She still needed to take care of Inez.

Alicia entered the family room, glancing at the crumpled body of the man. Twice she killed him. Twice. She looked away from the man and toward Inez. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, her face a strange picture of calm, considering the immense pain of her death. It was then that Alicia noticed a strange bump on Inez’s stomach, and everything connected in her head. It hadn’t even occurred to her before then, but when she realized, it was like a punch in the gut. Why was there a nursery but no baby? Why weren’t there any baby photos? It was because the baby hadn’t been born yet. Now it was dead, just like Inez. Alicia had killed it. Alicia had killed her. Alicia had killed them all. With the blood of the family still warm on her hands, she drove her knife through Inez’s forehead. She stood on shaky legs and left the dining room, walking to the front door, sparing one last glance at Paolo before exiting to face the morning Sun.

* * *

Alicia had decided to head north. This wasn’t a decision made on a whim; it was arrived at after careful consideration, and maybe a little bit of wishful thinking. She washed up in the zodiac alone, so the others must have fallen out upriver. The river flowed west to east, so they must’ve been west of her; however, Alicia couldn’t go west. West was John Proctor’s territory, and she couldn’t go there. He was dead, but she couldn’t say the same about his brothers, and she had no interest in meeting them and explaining how her family detonated their brother along with the most profitable resource for hundreds of miles. South was also Proctor territory, so that was not an option. North was the only way to go. Alicia had to assume that, if they were alive, the others would come to the same conclusion. Plus, Alicia’s Spanish turned out to be less useful than she expected. That part was less important though; she wasn’t planning on doing a lot of talking.

Orienting herself northward was easy. The Sun rises in the east and sets in the west, so all she had to do was point herself toward the sun and turn left. Moving northward turned out to be not so easy. Almost every street she came across was blocked in some way. Some were blocked by fences, some by lines of flaming cars and the dead, some by just the Dead. Alicia wasn’t quite sure why the fire attracted them. Maybe it was the light or the sound of the crackling flames, or maybe it was the heat. Either way, she couldn’t get by. It was only with patience and perseverance that Alicia found a passable road. It was pretty amazing actually. That particular road was practically clear of obstacles. Had she a vehicle, Alicia could easily drive it down that road without a problem.

She began walking, careful to stay a safe distance from the buildings on either side of the road. This road was twice as wide as any other road she had seen during her search, so it was probably the main road through the town and would lead to an expressway of some sort. That didn’t matter yet. What Alicia needed to do was find a car, preferably with the keys inside. She’d seen a car hot-wired before but didn’t know how to do it herself.

Checking cars was a process that took too long for Alicia’s comfort. She’d tap on the glass to see if any Infected were inside; then if no Dead made themselves known, she would check all the doors. If they were locked, she moved on. Alicia couldn’t afford to attract any unwanted company with the sound of breaking glass, nor did she have the tools or knowledge to acquire access quietly. If the car was unlocked, she would check everywhere she could think of for the keys. She checked inside visors, on top of dashboards, inside glove compartments, and under seats. If she didn’t find keys, which she hadn’t yet, she would check the car for anything else useful, but she didn’t find much. Most were already stripped bare.

Just as Alicia was contemplating smashing a few windows—why would unlocked cars have keys? Someone would have driven away by then—she noticed that the gas tank of the car she had just searched was open. Broken open, in fact. Alicia could see the latch hanging uselessly on the cover, flapping about. She dropped to a crouch and checked her surroundings. There cars along the street and a few empty shops, their windows shattered and their shelves bare. There was a stone staircase about fifty feet ahead of her. No people though. Odd. Someone must’ve been siphoning gas, but where were they?

* * *

Alicia found him about a mile down the road. She had decided to stop searching cars. Knocking on glass in the middle of the street in the daytime made her feel too exposed. All someone had to do to spot her was look in her general direction, and Alicia was not okay with that. This was especially concerning as she now knew that there were people around. Her plan was to simply get away from anywhere that she might not be alone. She had no idea who the gas siphoners were or what they would do if they found her, so she walked, spotting more and more cars with broken gas tank covers. She was about to turn around—she figured she was only walking toward the siphoners— when she heard him, heard the sound of his boots crunching on the asphalt. She couldn’t believe she could be so obtuse; he was only thirty feet in front of her. His silhouette blended with the car he was kneeling next to, tire iron in hand, tightening the bolts on a tire. Maybe it was because they were both wearing the same shade of beige. The car was an old sedan, low to the ground without any real edges. There was a large jerry can sitting on the ground next to him, so he must be the gas man. Alicia looked at him, looked at his working car, and had a terrible idea.

She steeled herself. What she was about to do would take courage and determination. It was bad, sure, but it wasn’t even close to the worst things she’d ever done, so what did it matter? She made a fist with her trembling hands and squeezed. She needed a car. When she released her fists a moment later, they were still. She drew her gun and pointed it at the man. He hadn’t seen her yet. She could’ve just shot him. Shot him in the back and taken everything he had. The shot would ring out and he would fall and bleed and die. She would have to leave quickly to avoid the Dead. She thought about it. No one would ever know. Well, that wasn’t true; she would know. No; Alicia wouldn’t shoot him. Not unless she had to. She moved in an arc, stepping closer and positioning herself behind him. She was maybe fifteen feet away now. “Don’t move,” she said in English. Her voice came out shakier than she thought it would. It wasn’t as assertive as she may have liked. Still, the man stopped what he was doing, his head snapping up and his back straightening.

“What happens if I move?” His voice was low and serious. He kept his face pointed toward the car.

“Put your hands up.” Alicia’s voice was definitely shaking. She didn’t know what she had gotten herself into. The longer she looked at the man, the more she noticed things that should’ve stopped her. For one, he had a car in the first place. How did he manage to keep hold of it? Would he fight her for it? He also had a gun; its metal frame was sticking out of his waistband, the sun reflecting off the handle. How did she not see that?

The man had put his hands up. How long had Alicia spent thinking about how much danger she was in? “Are you going to shoot me?” asked the gas man. She couldn’t place his accent. He definitely wasn’t American, but he didn’t sound like anyone she had ever heard before. His  _ I _ s were slightly more pronounced, and he added a little  _ E  _ sound to the end of some words.

“Step away from the car.”

“No, you’re not going to shoot me.” He stood and turned to face Alicia, keeping his hands in the air.

“I said don’t move!” She was yelling now, Dead be damned. Once he stood, Alicia really understood how much trouble she was in. He was massively tall, almost a foot taller than her. The open collar of his beige flannel revealed wiry but likely strong muscles. He was probably very fit before he had to start rationing food and missing meals. His skin was a tanned brown, and his black hair reached to his ears. He had a beard, but it was short and patchy, not really connecting to his sideburns. She guessed that he couldn’t be more than thirty-five, but there was no way to really tell. The Outbreak had a way of aging people beyond their years.

“Who taught you how to fire a gun?” Alicia was surprised. He sounded almost amused. What he was amused about, she had no idea. He had a gun pointed at him and was about to lose his car.

“I said  _ step away from your car! _ ” What was this guy’s plan?

“Actually, you said ‘step away from  _ the _ car. If you’re going to threaten people, at least get your orders straight.” He was almost smiling. Who did he think he was?  _ She _ was taking  _ his  _ car. He should be the scared one. “Look, you’re standing all wrong. You want to square your feet and shoulders with your target. Stop with the diagonal shit. And what use is leaning away from the gun? You want to lean toward it, get your weight behind it. You look like a chicken, standing the way you are.” He was definitely smiling now. Alicia looked down at her feet, but quickly realized that meant taking her attention off of the gas man. He was still there when she looked back. She was incredulous, and most of her fear had faded as he gave his little speech.

“What are you doing?” she asked apprehensively. She was genuinely curious. He was behaving very oddly, and she wanted to know why.

“I’m critiquing your form. After all, it’s the apocalypse. No one should be unprepared, and that includes the ability to hit what you shoot at. I’m just doing my duty as a surviving member of the human race.” He sounded like he was being sarcastic, but Alicia couldn’t tell. “Now that I’ve answered your question, will you answer one of mine?” he asked, all previous hints of humor absent from his voice and demeanor.

“Sure,” Alicia said, concerned about his change in demeanor, almost forgetting that she was pointing a gun at his head.

“What is a teenager doing brandishing a firearm and trying to steal my car?” His voice was more assertive. Alicia realized then that she was dealing with a man who was absolutely fearless. That was not a great thing for her.

She decided to answer truthfully. “I need a vehicle.” She was uncomfortable with the truth. It was embarrassing. She wasn’t able to do for herself, so she decided to take from someone else.

“And why, if I may ask, did you not simply introduce yourself and ask for my assistance?” That was a ridiculous question. He knew it; she knew it, and she wasn’t going to let it slide.

“Are you kidding me? If you haven’t noticed, the world has fallen to pieces. The Dead walk. People kill each other over cans of beans. Did you really expect me to just say ‘hi’ and ask for a ride? No. If I did that, I’d be dead in a week. If you were in my position, you would do the same thing, and you know it.” 

Alicia was met with silence, as if he was contemplating her words.

The gas man dropped his hands. “Where are you going that you need a car?” His lack of reaction disappointed Alicia, though she didn’t know why. Alicia had pretty much lost control of this encounter. (No; that wasn’t true. She could still shoot him.) Instead, she elected to answer his question.

“North, out of Mexico.” What was he getting at?

“What a coincidence!” The gas man turned and walked to the trunk of his car, opening it. Alicia didn’t know what to do. “I’m also headed north,” he said, retrieving his jerry can and tire iron and stowing them in his trunk. “You’re welcome to come along if you’d like.” He shut the trunk and walked to the driver side door.

Alicia stood motionless, still pointing her gun at the place he had been. Lowering her gun, she thought about his offer. Should she travel with a complete stranger? It wasn’t really all that different than getting on Strand’s boat, though she had family with her then. Now she was alone and apprehensive to the prospect of getting into the car with a stranger.

It was the gas man’s voice that finally shook her from her thoughts. “Girl, just get in the car. You know you’re going to anyway.” He was right. Alicia was always going to get in the car. He got in the driver’s seat and shut his door. Alicia, turning away from her doubts, quickly holstered her gun and followed suit, climbing into the passenger seat.

She hoped she didn’t regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, I welcome any comments and will try my best to respond. Chapter Three is on the way, so I'll see you then.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that turn around! I'm planning on most chapters being about this length, but that may vary. Enjoy.

The car’s engine gently rumbled, propelling them forward through the streets. What Alicia thought was a small town had turned out to be a decently sized city. Alicia had been in the car with the strange man for a few minutes, weaving through parked, burned, or otherwise disabled cars on the road, and hadn’t said anything, but felt that she couldn’t keep quiet when she noticed that they were traveling in the direction that she came from. “Hold on,” she said. “Why are we going south?”

“South?” He took his eyes off the road for a brief second. “Girl, this is north. You’re telling me you thought you were going north?” He was making fun of her; she could tell.

“No; I was going north. Now we’re going south. I used the Sun and everything!” There was no was no way she was going south. He had to be messing with her. She couldn’t think of anything she could’ve possibly done wrong.

He fished in the pocket of his flannel and came out with a bronze puck. “Here. Check for yourself.” He tossed it at her. She didn’t catch it.

Cheeks burning, Alicia reached for the disk on the floor. It was rough and worn, caked in a layer of dirt and smudges, but underneath Alicia saw shiny metal. It had a clasp that locked the top to the bottom. She opened it and a compass was revealed, pointing the way straight ahead— straight north. How did that happen?

“You see? I told you. A compass is a vital tool; don’t leave home without one. Now give it back to me.” He held out his hand.

“Well I didn’t have a compass,” she said as she returned his compass.

“That’s no excuse.” Great, so he was one of those guys.

“You probably had a basement full of compasses, didn’t you?” she asked snidely. Alicia didn’t know why she was making fun of him. Maybe it was because she was embarrassed.

“Just twenty. You don’t really need more than that.” He smiled at her, not dropping to her level. He thought he was funny. That was fantastic. “So,” he said, changing the subject. “It’s just occurred to me that I don’t know your name, so… you know… what is it?” He was looking at her expectantly. Alicia thought about lying. She very well could. That complete stranger would have no way of knowing that she wasn’t who she said she was, but why? What would be the point? It’s not like her name had magical powers or any real meaning; it was just a name.

“My name is André, in case you were wondering. André Sousa.” Apparently Alicia didn’t answer in time.

“Alicia. I’m Alicia.” Better late than never. André smiled a little bit when he heard her name, like he’d won.

“Okay, Alicia; glad to meet you.” Maybe it was his joyful demeanor, but she believed him. “Where are you fro—” He slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt, making her jerk into her locked seat-belt. Alicia turned her eyes toward the road, where she saw that it was blocked by a mob of Infected. There were too many to count, all moaning and growling and snarling, creating a cacophony of impending death. They had been spotted, and the Dead were coming, closing the distance with alarming speed.

“Back! Back now!” Alicia shouted excitedly. André had already thrown the car into reverse and twisted around, bracing one hand on her seat and steering with the other. Sudden acceleration forced Alicia’s stomach into her throat. They flew by car after car and building after building until, finally, they came to an unblocked intersection, maybe five blocks away from the Dead. André kept driving until they passed it. Then he stopped gently, put the car into drive, and began slowly turning left like nothing had happened. Alicia looked at him. He was eerily calm. In the middle of his turn, he looked over at her.

“Are you okay?” He was worried about her? Alicia nodded. It wasn’t the first time she had fled the Dead. Her eyes turned back to the road just in time to see the impact coming but not in time to warn André.

They hit the crowd with a loud  _ thud_. The car jolted to a stop as André’s eyes returned to the road, and he realized his mistake. It was more infected—God, where did they come from?—surrounding the vehicle from all sides. They reached for the car’s occupants, pushing through mirrors and reaching over the hood. They pressed against the sides of the car, and it gently rocked. Cracks formed along the windows. Alicia didn’t think they would hold. Wide eyed, she drew her gun, but André was already reversing, smashing into the few Dead that had been pushed to the back of the car. The car jumped upward as it ran them over. Alicia wasn’t sure if the crunching sound was its bumpers or the bones of the Dead. It was probably both. 

André reversed right back to the spot they had just turned from and instead went right. This time, he kept his eyes intently focused on the road ahead of him. Alicia couldn’t believe what just happened. What did just happen? Her heart was beating faster than usual, and she was sweating.

“Oh my God.” She was speaking too quickly. “That’s the most Dead I’ve seen since I got here. I thought this place was safe.” It was true; Alicia had hardly seen any Infected at all since the bridge and Inez’s house. When she thought about it, it was actually pretty strange.

“Safe? No, girl. Rule Number One: you are never safe. Even if you can’t see any and can’t hear any, even if you have four walls and a concrete fence, even driving in the car with me right now, you are never,  _ ever _ , safe. You can be comfortable, sure, but don’t mistake petty indulgences for any degree of safety. You’re always one mistake away from death.  _ One mistake. _ Don’t get complacent.” During his lecture, André’s calm demeanor never faltered. He was made of stone. Alicia was jealous.

They were driving down a narrow two lane road.. After about two minutes, André stopped the car. “Get out,” he said, and he grabbed his backpack from the back seat. Surprised, Alicia did as she was told, extracting her own backpack from its position on the floor under her feet and exiting the vehicle. André got out a moment after she did. He walked around to the rear of the car, retrieved his tire iron, and stuck it through a loop on his jeans.

“Why are we out of the car?” Alicia didn’t know what André was planning, but he seemed to have a plan. They were on a residential street, and houses of all kinds surrounded them. There were concrete, wooden houses, clay houses, and brick houses. There were houses with yards and houses without, houses with fences and houses without.

“What do you think is attracting them?” He gestured toward the car. “They can probably hear this thing from half a mile away. I’m amazed I made it as far as I did. We clearly won’t make it much farther, so we go self-powered from here. We’ll find another car once we leave the city.” He carried a very casual, carefree tone, like he was simply explaining long division, not why the Undead were trying to eat them.

“Don’t you need anything else from inside?” She looked at the car. Its rear bumper was covered with spatters of dark red blood, and a severed foot was caught in the wheel well. Through the windows, she noticed that it was actually quite bare inside. There wasn’t any junk strewn across the seat, and there was nothing on the dashboard.

“Rule Number Two:” he lectured, drawing her attention back to him. “Keep everything necessary to your survival on your person at all times. That’s weapons, lights, compasses,” he tapped his breast pocket, “food, water, and all your gear. Don’t leave it in the car because if you need it, you need it now, not later. Anything not necessary to your survival is unnecessary and should be treated as such; that means don’t bother taking it with you.” She noticed that when he went on his little tirades about his rules, he adopted an authoritative tone, like he was a dad reprimanding her about leaving the front door unlocked.

“What if you have more food than you can carry?” Alicia asked, feeling like a smart-ass.

“If you have more food than you can carry, then sure, leave it in your car, but when do you have more food than you can carry? It’s the apocalypse, after all.” He was smiling, and so was she. Apparently, he was immune to her wit.

“How many rules are there?” He was going to say a lot, wasn’t he?

“As many as I decide there are, girl.” Great. That meant she had to hear more.

“So which direction do we go?”

“North, of course.” He pulled out his compass and turned to face northward. There was a house in his way. Alicia chuckled at him. “Maybe we go east a little bit first.”

* * *

They had been walking for about forty-five minutes—first east for about thirty minutes, then north once they hit a stretch of uninterrupted road—when they saw the freeway. Along the way, they had to dodge the Dead, even lone Infected that were standing in the middle of the street. Rule Number Three, apparently, was never underestimate the Dead. “You see,” André had said, “you may not think a single Dead man can kill you. The problem is, they are never alone. It’s not in their nature. They crave packs, hordes. You will kill this one with no problem, sure. Then you will kill the next one with no problem, then the next and the next and the next until, eventually, you kill a single Dead man, and there is a problem: you did not see his friends. Just like that, you will be eaten. That is how a single Dead man kills you.” Alicia had to admit, his words struck deep. She could see the exact scenario he described occurring if she was caught unaware. She would have to be more careful.

Once they reached the freeway a few minutes later, they were met with a car accident. It seemed that a car had run into the white metal fence that separated the street from the freeway. The car was high centered in the middle of the fence, stuck on what little remained of the metallic bars. Across the fence and to her left, Alicia could see the border crossing checkpoint, its large white roof reflecting the hot southern sunlight. “That’s our way north,” André said, pointing.

He crossed the car first, clambering on top, wincing when the car shifted loudly under his weight. Once he was safely across, it was Alicia’s turn. She carefully climbed on top of the trunk and crawled across the top of the car. It felt like a very heavy rocking horse. It even sounded like one. “Careful now,” said André. When she got to the other side, he helped her down, and she let him. Alicia wasn’t sure when she had started to trust the man. All she knew about him was his name, but she trusted him anyway. The world was weird sometimes.

Approaching the checkpoint, Alicia felt eerie. She always did when she looked at things like this, things that exemplified the order and function of the world before. Now all the lights were out and the guard booths were empty. The electronic signs had long since stopped working. The barricades that kept cars from passing were down; one was even down on the top of a car, denting its roof with its weight. The road was packed bumper to bumper with cars, so even if they had brought their car, they wouldn’t have been able to get it through. Some of the cars they walked passed emitted snarls and growls as the Dead inside pounded against the glass that was keeping them from their meal. Alicia tried not to let it get to her, tried not to be afraid. She could see that André was tense, too.

Passing through the checkpoint was rather unceremonious. “Do you have your passport?” André joked as they passed the barricades.” Alicia laughed at that. She really laughed; it wasn’t a chuckle or a scoff; it was a genuine, unstoppable laugh. She hadn’t done that in a long time. André looked proud of himself.

On the other side of the checkpoint, she could see two long bridges. One was unreachable from their current position—traffic ran north to south, so it must be the bridge from the U.S. to Mexico—and the other was directly in front of them, connected to the road they were on. Both bridges were flooded with cars. On the Mexico side, Alicia recognized the riverbank. It was where she had landed in the zodiac. She saw the street she ran down. She’d really come full circle. Inez’s house was just down that street. Paulo was probably still lying dead where she’d left him, blood pouring from his head. She massacred his entire family, and for what? So she could end up right back where she started?

“Hey, you okay?” André looked concerned. She must’ve spent too long staring.

“I’m just thinking about the cars,” she lied. “Mexicans who thought it might be safe in America, Americans who thought it might be safe in Mexico. People died in their cars waiting to go somewhere safe, and what about the cars on the bridges? Were they stuck in between when the borders were closed? Did they die out there because no one would let them in? Were they scared?” She had started out lying to avoid talking about what was really bothering her, but now she was actually thinking about it. It was a troublesome thought.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but I know that we won’t die like they did. Not if I have anything to say about it.” So it was we?

There was graffiti on the side of the opposite bridge—big white words, spray painted on the outside of the barriers. How it got there, Alicia didn’t know, and she couldn’t read it. “What does that say?”

“How should I know?” answered André. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

She was shocked. “What do you mean you don’t speak Spanish? You’re from here!”

“I’m from Brazil! I speak Portuguese!” He was talking faster, and his voice was full of indignance, but he hadn’t raised his voice. “Just because I’m brown, I’m supposed to be Mexican?”

“Okay; I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to— I’m sorry. I just thought that, you know, we’re in Mexico…”

“Ah, forget it. It’s fine. Let’s keep moving.” His voice had gone back to normal, but Alicia still felt bad. She nodded at him. “When we cross this bridge, we need to move as fast as we can. I mean sprint. We don’t want the Dead to get on both sides and trap us. If they do that, we’ll have nowhere to go. So hoof it, okay?” He was lecturing again.

“Let me guess, Rule Number Four: don’t let the dead trap you?” she asked, smiling.

“No; this ties into Rule Number Three. Letting the Dead trap you is underestimating them. Are you ready?”

He didn’t wait for her to nod, he just pulled the straps of her backpack tight and told her to “GO!” She did. She ran as hard and as fast as she could, keeping to the side of the bridge to avoid the cars. Every odd car would have Dead inside, but she didn’t pay them any heed as she ran past. She felt like she was going quite fast but when she was about halfway across, she noticed that André had overtaken her and was almost across. She ran harder, pushing herself to the limit. She reached the other side out of breath and panting. André clapped her on the back. He was barely out of breath. How did he do that?

“You need to run more,” he said.

“What I need to do is eat more.” Her breath had come back, and she had stopped panting.

“We all need to eat more. Come on; your homeland awaits.” He walked down the road, and she followed. 

The checkpoint on the American side was made of brown stone and huge. The road they were on forked into two separate roads around the central building, which was long and had overhangs over the road that looked like arms. There was a scratched out sign to the right that said  _ Welcome—Entry Gateway to the United States.  _ As they passed through the checkpoint, she couldn’t help but feel jumpy. She remembered what happened to Nick when he tried to cross the border. She knew that was unlikely to happen to her—Troy was dead; the entire ranch was gone—but that did nothing to calm her nerves. They passed without incident and continued walking. They stopped when they saw a sign that read  _ Welcome to McAllen, Texas: The City of Palms.  _ “Texas!” André declared, turning to Alicia. “Is it true that everything is bigger here?” She knew he was joking, but that didn’t stop her from rolling her eyes.

“I fucking hate Texas,” she sighed, kicking at the concrete under her feet.

* * *

They left the freeway when it ran past a neatly gridded suburb. Sunset was on the way, and they needed a place to spend the night. The suburb’s yards didn’t have a lot of grass—some did, but most had rough squares of brown dirt with the occasional tuft of green—but they had a lot of trees. Almost every house had a tree in the front yard.

“Look for a house with a second level,” André said commandingly.

“Why a second level?”

“Girl, that’s Rule Number Four: the Dead can’t walk. With enough precautions, you will hear them coming before they ever lay their beady, white eyes on you. Elevation is good—they don’t do stairs too well, constantly falling over—but so are noise traps. Set up a line of cans over your entryways, and you’ll always hear the lumbering idiots coming.” Alicia wondered how he came to be so knowledgeable about these things. How did he learn all that stuff? She wasn’t unprepared herself—she’d survived this far—but André took it to another level.

“Doesn’t that contradict Rule Number Three?” She wasn’t being snarky; she was actually curious.

“No; Rule Number Four is about accurately assessing and preparing for your opponent’s capabilities. Rule Number Three is about not being stupid.”

They didn’t find a two story house. They had been down two streets when André decided that it was impossible, that no one in the entire state of Texas ever built a two story house. It didn’t matter much anyway; they found a single story house with a very ornate metal fence and decided to stay there. André boosted Alicia up and over the fence, and she, after a rather haphazard landing, unlocked the gate from the inside.

“Make sure no one lives here before we go barging in.” Alicia remembered all too well the consequences of carelessness. It had only been a day ago that she killed the man in the clay house.

André looked at her confusedly, but he nodded and looked through the windows before trying to access the house. “There’s one Dead inside, just standing in the middle of the living room.”

They flanked the front door as André tried the handle, knife drawn. Alicia hadn’t seen his knife before. It was big and straight and had a simple, flat guard at the base of the blade. The door was unlocked. Alicia watched as he slowly opened it and moved inside, toward the Infected in the middle of the room, quickly stabbing it in the back of the head before it had even noticed them. They checked the rest of the house but didn’t find anyone else. “Looks like this guy was alone,” André said, reaching down and grabbing a pistol that was on the floor.

“Going to shoot himself, maybe?” Alicia was unfazed by the thought. It wasn’t out of the norm anymore.

André checked the gun. “Three-eighty” he decided. “Fully loaded. Eight in the magazine, one in the chamber. Browning.” The small gun looked tiny in his hands. She watched him check the dead man’s body for something, she didn’t know what. “Jackpot!” he shouted, loud enough to make her jump. Didn’t he know that they had to be quiet? He came up holding something black with a loop. A holster. “Finally! I’ve been walking around with this thing in my pants like an idiot for weeks,” he said excitedly as he pulled a rusty revolver from his waistband and emptied it of its two bullets. He shoved the old gun into his backpack and holstered his new one. “We’ll sleep in here.”

It was because the living room had the most exits, he said after they had settled. Alicia was curled in a ball in a worn armchair while André was lying on a faded couch across from her, staring up at the ceiling. They had dragged the dead man into the yard a few minutes prior. There was no television in the room, and all the furniture faced the low table in the center. “Rule Number Five:” he said. This time, there was less conviction in his voice, and he was speaking very softly. “Always know your exits. Know where you’re going to run. Don’t get stuck because you walked yourself into a corner.” The house was quiet. “Now let’s eat,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his backpack.

“Why don’t we start a fire? Warm up a little?” Alicia hated the cold. When night fell, the temperature dropped significantly, making her shiver.

“No,” he said. “Sorry, girl, but we can’t do that. Rule Number Six: hide. The Dead are attracted to everything. Every sound you make and breath you take brings them to you. The light will only attract more.” She knew he was right, but she didn’t have to be happy about it.

* * *

They ate in silence, eyes on their cans. They’d spent the day together, but this was their first real time to talk, and it was uncomfortable. André finally broke the silence. “So, Alicia, where are you from?”

“Why do you ask?” She was apprehensive.

“I just want to know. All I know about you is that you tried to rob me and steal my car, and that you’re covered in blood.” Alicia looked down and realized that she hadn’t changed clothes since Inez’s house. She still had the man’s blood all over her. It had dried on her pants, and her right hand and forearm was tinted a light red. “That’s not a very good first impression. Not to say your bravery isn’t impressive. Where did all that blood come from, anyway?” Alicia really didn’t want to answer that question.

“I’m from Los Angeles,” she choked out, trying to change the subject. If André noticed her discomfort, he didn’t say anything.

“Damn, girl! How’d you manage to get out this far?” He actually sounded impressed.

“It’s complicated. And why don’t you speak for yourself? How’d you get this far from Brazil? Isn’t it thousands of miles?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty far. It took me a long time to get here. I’ve lost track of the days, but it had only been about a month since this all started when I left.” He sounded pensive. “Why are you going north?” he asked, flipping the conversation back on her.

“I um…” she wasn’t sure if she should answer. “I was separated from my group. I’m hoping they’re also headed north.” She might as well tell the truth; she didn’t really gain anything from lying.

“That’s a lot to hope for. How many were in your group?”

Alicia stared at the floor and thought of Nick. Four; there were four of them. “It was just the three of us. I don’t even know if the others are alive. They probably aren’t. That would be just our luck. Still, we’ve found each other against the odds before, so who knows.”

André just stared at her. She must’ve looked pretty pathetic, complaining about lost loved ones. Everyone’s lost someone. That was the way the world worked now. She was lucky she held on to her family as long as she did. “Why are you going north?” she asked, wanting to stop talking about herself.

He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “I’m going home.” His voice was low. “Back to my family.”

Alicia was confused. “I thought Brazil was home?”

“No; my wife and I left Brazil when my daughter was a baby. Little Ana was so small, she could still fit in the sink.” Alicia could tell that it was bittersweet for him, talking about his family.

“If you lived in America, why were you in Brazil?”

“In order to get into America, I had to join its military. Service for citizenship. I chose the Navy. We were in Brazil when everything fell apart. Now my family is in Virginia, and I am a thousand miles away when I should be there, keeping them safe.” Alicia felt for him. It must’ve been horrible, not being able to help your family when the world was ending. He must’ve felt like a failure.

She decided that he should talk about things that made him happy. “How old is Ana now?”

He lit up a little bit. “Not far from your age, actually. She’s fourteen, but if you looked at her clothes, you’d think she was twenty. That one has an eye for fashion.”

“There’s no way you have a fourteen year old daughter. You’re not old enough.” Alicia argued, interrupting him.

“I’m thirty-four! I’m plenty old. You’re what, twelve? You don’t get to talk.”

Alicia laughed. “I’m seventeen!—no—eighteen.” Her eighteenth birthday hadn’t been far off when days ceased to matter. “And we were talking about your daughter.”

He wore a dreamy expression. “Right, the clothes. My little girl has an eye for design. And she’s smart. Gets straight As. She goes to a school near the base, and all her teachers just adore her. She doesn’t know what she’ll be when she grows up—if you ask her, she’s already grown up—but I know she’ll be something great. She’s made of greatness. She’ll be more than I ever was.” Alicia could listen to him talk about his daughter for hours; he was clearly enjoying himself. It reminded her of a time when her dad would talk about her like that, before he died.

André had to know that nothing he was saying was true anymore, but she didn’t say anything. She let him dream that his daughter was okay and in school and that everything was alright even though they both knew the truth. His family was probably dead, and nothing was alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, up until this chapter, I didn’t have an actual, real world location in mind for the setting. I just knew “somewhere on a river near the U.S./Mexico border.” Well, I paid for my unpreparedness. I looked at a map and decided on a location that would work perfectly. The only issue was, when I looked at it on Google Earth, it looked nothing like what I had previously described. (Who knew the Rio Grande was so lush? Don’t judge me; I’ve been on one beach in my life, and it was in California.) Anyway, thanks for reading. Feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a little longer than the others, but I'm happy with the way it turned out.

Alicia was looking at a mirror for the first time in days, and the face looking back was a stranger’s. The stranger was pretty, in a sort of ghoulish way. Strong cheekbones jutted out from hollow, sunken cheeks. Unruly brown hair framed hollow, piercing green eyes and a sharp jawline. She looked feral. If Alicia squinted and turned her head, they kind of looked alike. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see when she went into the bathroom, but it wasn’t that. Not someone else wearing her clothes, moving when she moved, speaking when she spoke. She knew it was her, of course, but how could she reconcile this wild animal in front of her with the person she had been? She had plans. She was going to go to Berkeley. She was going to have a life. Now her only plan was for her next meal. When had she become that person?

“Let’s go! We’re wasting daylight!” came a call from the other room. It was André, and he sounded hurried.

Alicia sighed, running her hand through her dirty hair as she left the bathroom.

“Anything?” he asked.

“No, it’s completely empty.”

“At least we got some new clothes.” He sounded chipper, but Alicia knew he was as disappointed as she was. They didn’t have much food left, but they had found new clothes; that was true. Alicia was no longer wearing her bloodstained jeans and tank top. Instead, she had a pair of men’s khakis—too tight in the thighs and too loose in the knees—and an oversized, black, button down flannel. That wasn’t a choice; whoever lived there last only owned flannels, or at least they only left flannels behind. “Come on,” he said. “We need to find a car.”

Finding a car turned out to be trivial. They were on every street and in most every driveway. The real challenge, André had said, was getting gas. Apparently it became less efficient over time, so more fuel went shorter distances. They had decided on a blue sedan from the early nineties that looked well kept enough. All of its doors were locked, but André pulled a weird, flat bar out of his backpack and stuck it down the window. He wiggled it around—seemingly aimlessly—until the car was unlocked.

“What’s rule number two?” he questioned, sticking the bar back into his pack. When she admitted that she didn’t remember, he scowled. “Keep everything necessary for your survival on your person at all times. You really should remember these. They’ll save your life one day.”

As if André wasn’t already annoyingly impressive, it turned out that he knew how to hot-wire a car. “How do you think I got here?” he asked when she seemed surprised. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He did, bending over and showing her what wire was what. “Now,” he said, “you can’t do this to cars built in the last six or seven years. Their keys have chips in them that the car won’t start without. But these ‘90s cars? You could start these things with your bare hands if you wanted to.” 

It took about an hour to learn, but Alicia felt like she had learned something critical to her survival. She would never be stuck on foot again. The next task was gas. The car didn’t have any, so André pulled a long tube out of his backpack. “This is a siphon,” he explained. “We’ll use it to—” 

“I know what a siphon is,” she interrupted dryly.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Right, then let’s go.”

When the car was full of gas, André opened the back seat. It was full of stuff: paper, toys, even a car seat. He pulled all of it out and callously dumped it on the sidewalk before moving to the trunk. “That was pretty callous,” Alicia told him. “You’re just going to dump it on the sidewalk? That was someone’s life.” It was someone’s life. Someone with kids, toddlers probably. They probably had play-dates and went to soccer games.

“We don’t need that stuff. It will only get in the way.” He got in the driver’s seat. “Are you coming?”

She knew he was right. He was always right. She climbed into the passenger seat without saying anything. The car smelled like old carpet and plaster. The seats were stained and torn and the dashboard didn’t light up. André drove out of the suburb and onto the freeway, headed north.

* * *

McAllen, Texas was not doing alright. The freeway took them through what looked like a commercial district, but there was no business to be found; everything was abandoned. They drove past stationary car after stationary car, dead body after dead body. Alicia didn’t know what she expected. It really wasn’t any different than anywhere else.

After a while, André turned right to get to the interstate. It was then that Alicia began to really wonder what she was doing. Would Strand and her mother really go north? What if they were waiting for her somewhere together? If that were true then she would only be getting farther away. Even if they were heading north, then what? It would be nearly impossible for Alicia to find them. Texas was a massive state. Was she supposed to just drive around, hoping to run into them?

“Hey,” André broke her chain of thought. “What’s up?”

She didn’t want to talk about it. “If we left the other car in Mexico because it was attracting the Dead, why are we driving now?” she asked, avoiding her thoughts.

“You see, we were surrounded then,” he explained. “We left the car because we were attracting them  _ and _ couldn’t get through them. Now that we aren’t surrounded, we’re free to get as far away from the city as we possibly can.” He made it sound like he had an ingenious plan, but Alicia thought he was making it up as he went.

André turned right onto the interstate. “Why don’t you tell me what’s actually bothering you?” he said.

She was like a deer in headlights. He had noticed her avoidance and called her out. “My brother is dead, and I don’t think I’ll ever see my mom again,” she said before she could stop herself.

André was silent for a moment. “When did you last see her?” he finally asked.

“It’s… kind of hard to explain.” Where would she even start?

“Try me.”

She decided to keep it simple. “Someone was trying to kill us. My brother, Nick, he tried to save us. My Mom, Strand—another member of our group—and I got away, but we were separated. Nick didn’t make it. Now I have to find the others, but I don’t know where to start. They’re probably dead anyway, so what’s the point?” Her voice had become unsteady.

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know if my family is alive either, girl. They’re probably not. What I do know is that I can’t not look. I have to know. I don’t know if you’ll ever find your family, but they deserve to be looked for. Don’t give up on them just because you don’t think you can do it.” He finished with a nod, signaling that they were done. Alicia leaned back in her seat and thought and thought and thought.

* * *

They left the city without incident, its buildings getting smaller behind them as the car sped down the open road. Several times, they passed a person walking on the road—not a Dead person, a real, live person. When Alicia asked André if he was going to stop, he had said no. “We have no way of knowing who they are or what they would do to us.”

She was confused by that. “You didn’t know who I was. Why did you let me come with you?”

He chucked. “I did know who you were. You were the girl who was willing to rob me but not shoot me.”

“I would’ve shot you,” she huffed.

He laughed, “I knew you wouldn’t shoot me the second you opened your mouth, you sounded so scared.”

“You let me come with you because I sounded scared?” She didn’t like that. Not one bit.

“Of course I did! You sounded so young and helpless!” She went quiet at that. He wouldn’t be saying that she was helpless if he knew what she’d done not even a day before meeting him. She thought about the man reaching over the window for Paulo and shuddered. She had done that. It was her fault. If André noticed anything, he didn’t say it.

“Well,” she said, “I wasn’t.”

He didn’t respond, instead directing his focus straight ahead of them. Alicia looked out at the green fields. They would occasionally drive past a farmhouse, and she would wonder if anyone was alive inside.

“Eyes front,” she heard André say from the seat next to her. She looked at him, and he was squinting against the sun.

“What?” Alicia asked, unable to see anything.

“Do you see that?” He put his hand up to his eyes like a visor. “Just down the road. Is that a—” There was a loud popping sound accompanied by the feeling of the car sliding out from underneath them. André’s hand gripped the wheel as he tried to control what couldn’t be. The front of the car angled toward the field on the right, but they were hurdled in the other direction when the back hit something, and the entire vehicle swung to the left and slammed into the barrier, grinding against it for a few feet before coming to a stop.

Alicia sat motionless in her seat. She was stunned. She couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t do anything but stare straight ahead. That had really just happened. What had happened? Why did they crash? A groan to her left drew Alicia out of her thoughts and into the present. André was still in his seat, but his side of the car didn’t look very good. It was pressed up against the barrier, the door crumpled inward. Brown metal was pushing through the shattered window, and André was covered in tiny pieces of glass, with red stain slowly spreading across his abdomen.

“Oh my God!” She undid her seat-belt and reached over the console to help him, but he shoved her back and drew his gun, pointing it straight at the cracked windshield. No, not at, through. She turned to see what he was aiming at. There was a man approaching, and that man had a rifle in his hands. A split second after Alicia turned, André fired, the sound deafening in the small space of the car. Blood flew out of the man’s head, and he crumpled to the ground.

“Get out right now,” he managed through a cough. Alicia grabbed for her door handle, but her door swung open before she had the chance to open it herself. She screamed as someone reached in and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her out onto the concrete. She was looking up at a man. He wasn’t very tall or muscular, but his iron grip was digging into her arm.. There was a gunshot and the man grunted, releasing his grip. Without Alicia’s legs under her, she fell to the ground. Her unidentified assailant was prone next to her, bleeding from a wound in his shoulder and staring straight into her eyes. Still lying on the road, she fumbled for her holstered weapon, not breaking eye contact with her attacker. He realized what she was doing too late, drawing his weapon a mere second after Alicia raised hers. She fired, her bullet hitting him square in the forehead. Blood splattered her face as his face slumped and his forehead collapsed. His hand went limp, and his gun clattered to the pavement.

“Alicia?” André called worriedly.

“I’m okay!” she shouted back, her eyes locked on the man she had just killed, his broken face pouring blood and small pieces of brain matter onto the grey pebbles of the road.

Alicia saw movement and quickly looked up, but it was just André climbing out of the car through the passenger door. He was pale and moved slowly.

“Are you okay?” She was concerned. He looked injured, and if he was, she wouldn’t be able to do much about it.

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Keep your head up; there may be more.”

Alicia looked down the road and saw a red pickup truck not a hundred feet from them. It must’ve been where the men had come from. She checked out their poor blue sedan. The half that had collided with the divider barely looked like a car anymore. “Why’d the car crash?”

“We drove over a spike strip,” André told her. Then he coughed. It sounded wet. “I didn’t see it in time.” He was blaming himself, she could tell, but there wasn’t time to talk about it.

“What do we do now?”

“Now,” he said laboriously, “we take their weapons and their truck and we keep going.”

Alicia nodded and went to work, trying to ignore the corpse of the man, the  _ human being_, that she had just killed. It was just another one to add to the list. It seemed like the list kept growing. The worst part was that she wasn’t even that bothered. He was trying to hurt her—kill her or God knows what—so she hurt him. She was able to reconcile that in her mind. What she couldn’t reconcile, however, was that she had become the kind of person capable of hurting people in the first place. 

* * *

The men’s truck wasn’t nearly as pleasant to ride in as their sedan, and the sedan wasn’t really that pleasant. For starters, the truck smelled. It didn’t smell like the typical old car; it smelled like beer and urine and weed, all packaged in twenty year old burlap and propelled by a lawn mower engine. It coughed and sputtered anytime André dared to accelerate beyond thirty-five miles an hour, so that was their speed. Whoever the truck actually belonged to must’ve been a fervent drinker: the floors were covered in crushed bottles and cans.

“What a piece of shit,” she complained, smacking her hand against the dashboard. Her neck and shoulder hurt, probably from the crash.

“It will get us there,” André said. His breathing had only gotten worse. “Just don’t touch any syringes, and you’ll be fine” Was he joking? She couldn’t tell. Looking around, she couldn’t see any needles, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

Alicia was concerned; he still hadn’t shown her his wound. “Seriously, let me look at you. That injury could be serious.”

“Not until we stop. I don’t want to get stuck out in the open if more of those guys show up.” He was being stubborn.

“Fine, I won’t help,” she snapped. She was surprised when it came out more worried than angry.

André sighed raspily, “I’ll be okay.” If he wouldn’t accept her help, there was nothing Alicia could do; he made his own choices. She would have to let it go.

“Those guys didn’t follow Rule Number Two,” She remarked, looking around the cab at all the refuse and useless trash. André smiled.

A few hours later, the sun was going down. They had been driving non-stop, and their brand new truck was almost out of gas. André passed three truck stops before Alicia finally asked him what he was waiting for.

“Those truck stops are too obvious,” he replied. “ Someone won’t even have to look for us there. I’m looking for something off the main road, maybe a farmhouse or a town. That will at least give us some breathing room.” He turned onto a dirt road that led to a small red barn.

“Why don’t we just sleep in the car?”

“Rule Number Seven,” he said, and she groaned. “Never sleep in the car. Think about it: if you sleep in the car, there’s nowhere to hide. All someone has to do to find you is check the obvious spot. Sleeping in the car will get you killed.”

“Isn’t that just hiding, which is Rule Number Six? So, Rule Number Seven is the same thing?” She couldn’t resist teasing him.

“Shut up,” he laughed as the truck rolled to a stop in front of the barn. “I make the rules.”

The barn’s exterior was clear of the Dead, but the same couldn’t be said for the interior, which housed a few of the lumbering cannibals. They were quickly dispatched by André and Alicia, who had begun working quite well together. André, however, was moving slower than normal.

“Check out the hayloft,” he said, pointing toward the second level of the barn. “I’m going to go move the truck around back.” As he left the barn, Alicia noticed that he was favoring his right side.

The hayloft, connected to the ground floor by a rickety wooden ladder, wasn’t anything special. The only thing unique about it was that it was utterly devoid of hay. There wasn’t a scrap or shaving of straw to be found. It ran across the entire barn and down half its length, making for a large space that was tall enough for even André to stand comfortably in, were he with her.

Alicia heard someone climbing up the ladder. It was André, as if he knew that she was thinking about him. “I think this’ll work,” she decided.

André coughed. “Yeah,” he wheezed, his breath coming in long, ragged pulls. It was then that Alicia looked at his shirt, really looked at it, and noticed just how red it was.

“Sit down,” she demanded, “and let me look at you.”

“Okay, yeah,” he acquiesced. His face contorted in pain as he lowered himself to the floor with his hands. Alicia gripped the hem of his bloodstained shirt and raised it, watching the sticky mess pull away from his torso. The shirt was up to the middle of his ribs when she saw it and gasped. One of his ribs, jagged and white, was sticking  _ through his skin _ and bleeding profusely. She wasn’t a doctor; what could she do about that?

“Fuck, André. Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Her voice was somber and quiet.

“Is there anything you can do about it?” he asked. She stared at him. “I didn’t think so.”

He seemed resigned to his fate, but Alicia wasn’t. “We can find people, find you a doctor—”

“We can’t do any of that without gas in the truck, and we can’t find gas in the dark, so let’s just wait until the morning.” André was breathing so heavily, it sounded like he was trying to talk while sprinting. He was sweating, too. How had Alicia not noticed before?

“I can at least wrap something around it,” she tried. “Maybe we can slow the bleeding.” She was grasping at straws, and she knew it.

“Fine, there’s stuff in my bag.” He was only agreeing to please her, but at least he agreed.

In André’s bag, Alicia found a bandage, some tape, and some antiseptic. He hissed as she splashed the antiseptic over his wound, then he instructed her on how to apply the bandage, groaning every time she touched him. She felt bad, but she had to do it, or he would die. When they both were satisfied with her work, they settled for the night, lying on the wooden boards. André told Alicia stories of his family. He really did love them. Alicia listened to the ragged sound of his breathing and hoped that he would be okay.

* * *

Alicia woke to the creaking of the hayloft’s ladder. At first, she thought it was André, but he was still asleep a few feet to her left. When she saw him there, she quickly stood and pointed her gun at the ladder. Someone was coming. Heart pounding, she kicked André with her foot, trying to wake him up, but he only groaned. The creaking was getting closer. There were about fifteen feet between her and the ladder. From that distance, she could see it shake with every rung the intruder climbed. Alicia’s gun trembled in her hands; whoever was coming, they were almost there. When their head appeared, Alicia was momentarily stunned, so much so that she didn’t fire. It was a woman with brown hair. She was apparently just as stunned as Alicia was. Then Alicia saw the gun in the brunette’s hands, and her senses came back to her. She fired, but the brunette had already released the ladder, landing very audibly on the earth that was the barn floor. Then came the pounding of footsteps on dirt, multiple sets converging rapidly, entering through both barn doors.

“What happened?” Alicia heard a man shout, high and nasally.

“Someone’s up there!” a woman cried. Alicia assumed that it was the brunette that she had just missed.

“She shot at you?” Another man, lower and more commanding.

“Yeah, but she didn’t get me. Fuck, I hurt my ankle, though.” The woman again. There were at least three of them. Alicia couldn’t fight that many. She could barely fight one. She was in a lot of trouble.

Alicia didn’t hear anything more than the muffled sounds of purposely quiet speech. They must’ve realized that she could hear them. She tried to wake André, but he wouldn’t do anything more than groan and roll. What was wrong?

Just as she was about to examine his wound, Alicia heard a shout from the ground. It was the low-voiced man. “Throw any weapons you have over the side, and we won’t hurt you!” Like she believed that. “

If you don’t throw your weapons over the side, we will kill you,” he continued. “Please don’t make us do that.” Alicia looked at her options. The one window, back against the far wall, was boarded up, and there were no other ways down from her high position. She wouldn’t be able to drag André out anyway.

Another command came from the ground. “Disarm, right now, or we will be forced to shoot up through the floor you’re standing on. We’d hate to do that,” everything he said was  _ we _ , “but we will if we have to. Come on, just give us your gun. Don’t make it a fight.” Alicia desperately tried to think of a way out. She couldn’t think of anything, but there was no way that she was going to go with them. Who knew what they wanted.

“I’m going to count to five! When I reach five, we will fire, and you will die! Please throw your weapon over the side! One!” Alicia was sweating and trembling. She needed to do something  _ immediately _. “Two! Three! Fou—” 

“Okay!” Alicia yelled, and she threw her gun over the side of the hayloft, down to the waiting man. She really didn’t have any other choice. She could’ve tried to fight them, sure, but she had André to think about. Who would’ve defended him?

She was again commanded by the man below her. “I want you to put your hands up! We’re going to come up there and talk to you.” Alicia raised her palms to the sky and waited. The ladder creaked as it was ascended by someone unknown to her. When whoever it was got to the top, the first thing that Alicia saw was a handgun pointed at her, followed by a man’s bald head. The man made eye contact with her.

“Stay where you are,” he told her, “and don’t say anything.” He climbed the rest of the way into the loft. He was of below average height but was muscular and had a very wide frame. This created a stocky, intimidating shape. He looked around the room, then took a few steps forward and stood strangely still, pointing his gun at Alicia.

The next person to ascend was the brunette woman. She wasn’t as careful as the bald man, leading with her face again as she quickly clambered off the ladder and onto the wood of the platform. “Who’s the guy?” she asked when she spotted André.

“Wait for Kim,” the bald man said gruffly. His voice was an odd combination of high and rough, though it didn’t sound nearly as nasally as it did before.

Alicia kept silent as the next person climbed the ladder. She had only heard three, so this must be the one who was giving the orders. The man who got off the ladder was, frankly, unremarkable. He was of average height, average build, and average looks. The only thing that made him unique was the rifle in his hands. It was long and black and intimidating. Alicia had used the day the ranch fell. Jake had called it an AR something, but it didn’t matter enough for her to listen. A gun was a gun, and the gun this new guy had was superior to anything that Alicia had seen in a while.

“My name is Kim,” the man said, voice full of authority. “This is Brian and Maryanne. Do you want to tell me why you shot at Maryanne?”

Was he serious? “She was going to kill me and take my stuff,” Alicia replied incredulously.

“Kill you and take your stuff? No. But you can’t travel through Pollard’s territory without coming to an agreement with him beforehand, so you’re going to have to come with us.”

Alicia bristled. “I’m not going anywhere with you!” she snapped. She didn’t know who Pollard was, and she had no desire to find out.

“I’m sorry, but we’re not giving you a choice.” He adjusted his grip on his rifle for emphasis. “Anyone who comes through has to see Pollard. That’s you and your friend here.”

Alicia was about to argue further when the bald man she now knew as Brian spoke up. “Hey, this guy’s hurt.” He nudged André’s foot, and André groaned.

“Will he make it?” Kim asked. What were they going to do?

“No, man,” Brian said. He had holstered his gun and was looking under André’s bandage. “That rib is done for. It needs surgery, and we can’t do that.”

“No,” Alicia interjected, “he’ll be okay. He was fine yesterday.” She knew he wasn’t fine yesterday, but they were talking about doing something bad, and she couldn’t let that happen to André. She wouldn’t. She looked to the group standing before her for support, but found none. Brian was looking at André’s rib, Kim was looking at Brian, and the brunette—Maryanne—was pointing a gun at her, a vile look on her face. No one was going to help her, no one was going to help André, and she was unarmed. “Please,” she begged, “don’t. His family is waiting for him.”

Kim only frowned at her. There was pity in his eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked Brian.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Brian replied.

“Then take care of him.” The words were so cold, so unfeeling. Take care of him? What was he, a dog? A horse with a broken leg?

Brian turned André’s head, making it face sideways. What was the point of that if he was just going to murder him anyway? He drew his gun and pointed it straight at André’s head. “No, wait!” Alicia screamed, but it was too late. Brian fired, the roar of the gunshot resonating in her head. A spray of dark red coated the splintered wood behind André’s head. He was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I've figured out where I'm going to take this story, but life is getting a little busier, so updates will be slightly less frequent hereafter.


	5. Chapter 5

Alicia sat in the back seat of a mud-stained SUV, its sun-faded leather seats cracked with wear. Brian was driving, Kim was in the passenger seat, and Alicia and Maryanne were in the backseat. Alicia wasn’t even restrained. Did they think that little of her? Fighting was an option, but she knew that she wouldn’t win. There were three of them, and they were all armed. What would be the point, anyway? André was dead. Alicia had no one to fight for, no one to escape to.

She stared out the window and watched the muddy green landscape rush by. It was flat and desolate, the monotony only broken by the occasional shrub or tree. There was nothing to distract Alicia from her thoughts. André, her only friend, was dead, killed by the very same people she was currently riding with. Why did she even care so much? She’d only known him for two days. He was just another to add to the pile. Hell, she hadn’t even gotten over Nick yet; it had barely been three days. She hadn’t found her mom, and she didn’t even know where to begin.

A voice came from the front seat. “I really am sorry.” It was Kim, his voice believably compassionate.

“Where are we going?” she monotoned, keeping her eyes focused on the passing fields. It was the first time she had spoken since they had shoved her into the vehicle nearly an hour before.

“North.” His voice was back to its previous authoritative steel. “Pollard’s set up in a town there; it’s our home base.” At least they were taking her in the right direction.

Another thirty minutes passed in silence. Alicia’s hostile attitude seemed to make the others too uncomfortable to talk in front of her. Finally, Brian broke the silence. “So, who was that guy?” he asked.

Kim sucked in a breath as Alicia’s chest tightened. She turned her gaze from the window to the back of Brian’s head.

“Not the time, Brian,” warned Kim.

“Why not let the man ask?” Maryanne complained. “He deserves to know who he wasted.”

_ Wasted. _

“I don’t really care who he was,” explained Brian. “I was just trying to make conversation. It’s too quiet in here.” He sounded strained and uncomfortable.

_ I don’t really care. _

Kim’s nondescript features hardened. “Now is not the time for conversation. We take the girl to Pollard, and let him sort her out.”

_ Sort her out. _

“What’s there to sort out?” Maryanne again, her aggressive voice almost twice as loud as the others. “We didn’t do anything wrong. You see the guy? Asshole was dead meat! An hour more and he woulda been fuckin’ chompin’ down on the bitch’s face. We did her a favor, and she should be thanking us.”

_ Didn’t do anything wrong. Dead meat. Did her a favor. _

Were they serious? It was all too much for Alicia to stay quiet any longer. “Have you all lost your minds?” she asked, her voice quiet and empty. Kim and Maryanne turned and looked at her. It was the first time anyone had since their trip began. “His name was André. He was a person. Before all this, he had a family and a life and a job. He was a veteran, by the way.” Her voice was rising. “He traveled a thousand miles to find his family. It took him months. And he was going to go further, all the way to Virginia, until you came along. You ruined everything. His family will never see him again, and it’s all because of you. You dare to say that you did nothing wrong? You’re all a bunch of psychopaths!” It was only when she slumped back into her seat that Alicia realized that she had risen out of it, only when she put her hands in her lap that she realized she had been gesturing wildly.

In the wake of her speech, Brian and Kim were silent, their faces turned toward the road. Maryanne, on the other hand, was glaring at Alicia from across the bench. Her cheeks were red, her jaw was set, and there was murder in her eyes.

“Excuse me,” Maryanne growled through clenched teeth, “for putting some filthy fence hopper out of its misery. You just be grateful that I didn’t kill you for shooting at me.”

_Fence hopper?_ Alicia hated this woman. “What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you have any sort of respe—”

“Both of you, stop it!” yelled Kim. It was a shocking departure from his usual calm authority. “We’re here.”

Those last two words were enough to tear Alicia’s attention away from the vile Maryanne and to the world around her. Through the windshield, she saw the main street of a small town. Storefronts flanked the street on both sides, and the few intersections didn’t have any traffic lights. Blocking their entrance was a simple chain link fence with a gate that spanned the width of the street. Kim hopped out and ran to open it, allowing the SUV to pass into the town. Instead of getting back in, Kim simply walked alongside them as Brian drove forward at walking speed.

A closer look at the stores along the street allowed Alicia to notice that not all of them were empty. Some of them had shadows moving behind their boarded up windows; some people even came out and waved at Kim as he walked by.

Eventually, the SUV stopped in front of a small bank. It was the only building Alicia had seen so far that looked like it was built in the current century, all white concrete and steel supports. The bank’s lawn was green and well kept, and the few shrubs in front were properly trimmed. This building was clearly important to someone.

“We get out here,” said Brian.

Alicia offered no resistance as she opened her door and, for the first time in hours, stood. Her back cracked and popped as she reached her arms high above her head, feeling the soothing sensation of her muscles stretching.

“Come on,” Kim said, standing next to her. “It’s time to meet Pollard.”

“Pollard’s in charge here?” Alicia asked as they walked toward the glass door of the bank, Maryanne and Brian trailing behind.

Kim only nodded and opened the door for her. Inside, the bank was, well, a bank. Directly in front of Alicia, there was a line of desks for tellers, a few ATMs sat along the wall behind her, and two offices were built into the structure to her right. The offices had glass walls, and inside she could see a man sitting at one of the desks, looking at papers of some sort. The last thing Alicia noticed was the most astounding: the lights were on.

“How do you have power?” she asked Kim, but he shook his head and kept walking toward the office. Alicia followed, but Brian grabbed her by the arm.

“We’ll wait out here for a minute,” was all the explanation he provided.

Kim knocked on the office door, entering upon hearing confirmation to do so. The man came around his desk and greeted Kim with a handshake. The two remained standing as they talked for a few minutes, Kim occasionally gesturing toward the lobby where Alicia stood, making her uneasy. They were talking about her.

After an unbearable five minutes had passed, Kim opened the door and gestured for Alicia to come in. She did, nervously walking into the office. Both men were looking at her strangely.

“My name is Pollard,” the man said in a comically Russian accent. Pollard was a strange name for a Russian, but Alicia knew better than to point that out. “What is your name?”

“Alicia,” she managed. Pollard’s entire countenance was distracting. He was maybe sixty, but he had jet black hair that touched his shoulders, and his eyes were penetrating.

“Good!” He clapped once. “Kim, go.”

“But—” Kim started, but he was cut off by a sharp look from Pollard, and he turned and left the room. Now Alicia was alone with this intimidating stranger.

“Alicia,” he began, his voice low and quiet, “why are you so afraid? You shoot at my people, you are silent in the car, you even quake before me now. Why?”

Alicia didn’t expect that question and was caught off guard. “I—I thought they were going to kill me,” she said weakly.

“Yes, but why?” he asked, moving a step closer. “Why do you fear other people? What made you this way, afraid to trust your fellow man?”

Pollard was the most intense man that Alicia had ever met, and that was including Strand. His accent added an undeniable fire to his words. She understood his game, though. He was trying to stun her with his confidence and directness. She decided to tell him the truth, or at least a version of it.

Alicia straightened her back and took a deep breath. “The world is kill or be killed,” she began. “All the good people are gone. Everyone you meet can and will kill you and take everything you have at the first opportunity, so you need to be prepared. Why wouldn’t I be afraid of you? You’re just another stranger to protect myself from.”

Pollard looked at her for a second, then he slapped his hands together. “Exactly!” he shouted. “There is no good guy, only what is left.” His eyes lit up as he spoke. “We have good deal here. Anyone who comes through on the freeway has to pay to cross our territory. Sometimes it is food, sometimes medicine, weapons, anything. And we have scouting parties that go to find supplies. We do not have problems with the Dead, and we are the only settlement in twenty miles, so we have no problems with the living. The hydroelectric plant on the river gives us power, and we have minds with knowledge enough to operate it and transmit the power.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” interrupted Alicia. It was interesting, sure, but he had to have a point.

“Currently,” Pollard went on, “there are forty-four of us. Twenty-nine live here in town, and fifteen live at the plant; however, we do not have enough able bodied scouts. I know my people, and very few of them would survive out there. You, however, _have_ survived out there.” He leaned forward. “I want you to join us. Scout for us. You will always have food in your belly and bullets in your gun. We can provide you with safety, a home, and a purpose.”

He was really laying it on thick. It didn’t sound like a terrible idea. This seemed as good a place as any to wait for her mom, who was undoubtedly looking for her. If Alicia kept moving, she would end up running circles around the very person she was trying to find. In fact, this place seemed better than any other place, considering how many people came through. It had electricity, food, water, and security. What more could Alicia ask for?

“Alright,” she agreed. “I’ll join you.”

Pollard’s face betrayed no emotion. “Good!” he said. “I do have to warn you, scouting can become violent, especially if someone doesn’t want to come in. Just remember,  _they always have to pay_. It’s how we survive.” Alicia nodded, and he clapped her hand in his and shook it. “Welcome!” It was the first time he smiled in the whole conversation. 

***

A week later, Alicia was riding in the back seat of the same SUV behind Brian, who was driving, Kim in the passenger seat behind him. This Alicia’s fifth trip with them since accepting Pollard’s offer, and they were returning without Maryanne. No one spoke as they sped along the freeway, Kim’s eyes fixed forward, carefully avoiding the empty seat where his friend used to sit.

It was a freak accident; there was nothing any of them could’ve done. At least, that was what the others said. Alicia knew better. 

_ She and Maryanne were clearing a house before searching it. They had been sent to find some power cables for a project that someone at the plant was working on—Alicia didn’t know who or what—and were taking them from all the electric appliances in the powerless houses of a nearby town. Maryanne missed a biter and it got her, simple as that—except it wasn’t. _

_ Alicia saw the Infected when it was still a few feet behind Maryanne. There was enough time to save her, to warn her, but all she did was watch. Alicia watched as the freak reached out and grabbed Maryanne’s shoulders, watched her eyes widen in surprise as rotting yellow teeth sank into her neck and tore, rending flesh from bone and spraying the walls with blood. The wound turned a piercing shriek into a desperate gargle. Maryanne’s eyes locked on Alicia’s as she fell. In them, Alicia saw fear. Fear and betrayal. Maybe that was why she shot the Infected. Maybe she felt guilty. Alicia didn’t know. _

_ Quick footsteps thundered into the house. Brian and Kim had been working in another house, but the loud gunshot drew them. When he saw Maryanne on the floor, lying in a pool of her own blood, Kim demanded an explanation, but Alicia shook her head. She didn’t really feel that one was necessary; the scene painted a pretty vivid picture. Maryanne was dead on the floor, her eyes wide and glassy, her hair matted with blood, her neck torn open and oozing blood onto the carpet. _

_ Brian simply sighed and moved forward, drawing his knife and stabbing her in the forehead. He seemed to have a talent for shutting his emotions down. He picked up her backpack and walked out of the house. _

“So,” said Kim, drawing Alicia back to the present. They were almost back home. “How many cables did we get?”

She and Brian rattled off their counts, neither daring to mention Maryanne. She was gone. This is what it would be like if she died, Alicia realized. It would be like she was never there. Nevertheless, she didn’t feel bad for Maryanne or about what she did. Maryanne wouldn’t have saved Alicia, so why should Alicia need to save her? She was a vile woman and couldn’t be trusted in the first place. At least this way Alicia didn’t have to watch for a knife in her back.

***

Three weeks after joining Pollard, Alicia had yet to find any indication of her mom. Her group hadn’t bought in any survivors since her, and the other groups weren’t having much better luck. Only one man had been brought in since Alicia, and he gave up half his supplies and left without a second thought. Waiting was killing her, but Alicia still thought that she was doing the right thing by staying in one place.

A glance at her bedside clock revealed that it was time to meet Kim and Brian. Leaving the old newspaper office she called home, Alicia entered the waiting SUV. Brian and Kim were already inside. As usual, Brian was behind the wheel and Kim was in the passenger seat. They both greeted her as she climbed in. They weren’t quite her friends, but the tense energy of their first few runs had dissipated, leaving behind the comfort of predictability. Brian always drove, Kim was always in charge, and they were always looking for the same things: food, water, clothes, cigarettes, coffee, and survivors. Survivors were always the top priority, but they were few and far between.

The SUV rolled out of town, passing through the gate, down the road, and onto the freeway. Kim explained that they were headed north to a suburb that he thought might have people in it. How he ended up in charge, Alicia didn’t know, but the role fit him perfectly. He was equal parts commanding and intelligent, and he always seemed to make good decisions. They may not find people very often, but they frequently came back from their runs with a trunk full of supplies. Alicia liked him, she supposed, but she didn’t really know him outside of their scouting. She spent all of her free time alone, and there was never really any conversation while they worked.

Brian, on the other hand, was an enigma. She didn’t know what to think about him. Sometimes he would try to start conversations, and sometimes he would refuse to participate. Sometimes he made jokes, and sometimes he scoffed in disgust at Kim’s attempts at humor. It was like he couldn’t decide if he was happy or not. Kim didn’t seem bothered by him, so Alicia decided not to let it bother her either.

“Keep an eye out,” Kim said as Brian guided the SUV off the freeway and into a forest of houses. Alicia straightened and looked out the windows. The suburb was strangely peaceful. It was clearly an affluent neighborhood. Expensive cars were parked in the driveways of large houses that sat on large lots with big yards. The signs of death and despair were subtle but impossible to ignore. Lawns were overgrown. Front doors were wide open. Cars’ windows were shattered. There was the occasional streak of red on the concrete. Then there were the Dead. Alicia could see them shambling down the sidewalk, standing in closed houses, trapped in cars. A trail was forming behind the SUV, the Infected clearly attracted to the loud engine.

“We need to stop or they’ll overwhelm us,” said Alicia. Currently, the Dead were at a manageable number, but driving would only attract more.

Kim nodded. “Pull over,” he told Brian, and Brian pulled the car to the side of the road.

The half dozen Infected that had amassed behind them were dispatched with ease, the three of them wordlessly grabbing and stabbing. Killing the Dead had become routine for Alicia. It was just another fact of the new world. She was glad that Kim had returned her butterfly knife. Any knife could kill, but her knife was proven. It had, time and time again, performed in the worst of circumstances. It was the only thing that she could really rely on.

“Come on,” Kim said, gesturing to the house that they had parked in front of with his bloody hammer. Alicia and Brian followed him inside, weapons ready for any surprises. There were none, and they set about ransacking the house.

Twenty minutes of thorough looting later, they assembled their findings in the living room. It was a good haul; there were some blankets, clothes, and a little bit of food. They were about to pack it all out to the SUV when Brian put his hand in the air and said “Stop.”

Kim and Alicia stopped where they stood. Alicia didn’t know what Brian was doing; he just seemed to be staring at the ground.

After a few seconds, he spoke up. “I hear a car,” he exclaimed, and he rushed to the front of the house, Alicia and Kim trailing only slightly behind. Sure enough, they got out the front door just in time to catch the rear end of a white pickup as it rumbled down the road.

“Car, now, go!” commanded Kim, and the group sprinted to their vehicle. Brian pulled away from the curb just as the white truck turned right, trees and houses obscuring its position. Brian replicated its turn, but the truck was nowhere to be found. “It must’ve turned again.” Kim was clearly excited, but his voice didn’t show it. “Go to the next turn.”

The next turn was a right. They stopped in front of it and looked down the road. The truck that they were looking for was parked along the left side of the road a few houses down.

“We get out here,” Kim ordered. Brian put the car in park and pulled the keys out of the ignition. “Alicia, this is your first time, so stick with Brian. Follow our lead.” With that, the two men got out of the car, and Alicia followed.

The walk to the truck was eerily quiet. There were no Dead, no people, nothing but the sounds of boots crunching on asphalt. Alicia followed behind Brian, drawing her gun when he did. They approached the truck from the street, looking through the windows. It was empty, but it was definitely the truck they had seen; its engine was still warm. Kim pointed to the house it was parked in front of with his offhand, and Brian nodded. There were no outward signs of occupancy, but the truck must be parked where it was for a reason. They quickly stepped across the yard, trying not to make noise and alert whoever was inside. 

Up against the house, Kim peeked through the largest window. It was obscured by curtains, but he must’ve been able to see something because he held up two fingers.  _ Two people. _ Then he pointed to the gun in his hand.  _ Two people who were armed.  _ What happened next? The only experience Alicia had with this was her own collection, and that hadn’t gone so well. André had died, but she had shot at them first. Maybe it would be different if these people were peaceful.

Kim moved to the front door, motioning for the others to follow. Brian was first, with Alicia close on his tail. The front door was unlocked—stupid of them—and Kim gently opened it, its hinges the loudest thing that Alicia had ever heard. Rifle pointed straight ahead of him, Kim entered the house, followed by Brian. Alicia steeled herself and followed, gun held high in front of her. Unlike Brian and Kim, she had never done this before, and her heart was racing.

They came to a closed door. Kim pointed at it; it must’ve led to the room they were looking for. Kim pointed at Brian, then the door. He seemed to understand, moving to the side of the door that had hinges and grabbing the doorknob. Kim pointed at Alicia and then himself.  _ Follow me.  _ She nodded her understanding. Brian held up three fingers and began lowering them one by one.  _ Three, two, one.  _ The door swung inward, and Kim and Alicia rushed in.

“Don’t move!” shouted Kim, pointing his rifle at the room’s inhabitants: a man and a woman. “Keep your hands where we can see them!” Alicia followed suit, pointing her weapon at the man, who looked absolutely stunned. He was wearing a white t-shirt and blue pants, and he was balding, the entire crown of his head visible. The woman had blond hair and was wearing a black tank top and green khakis. She was just as stunned as the man. Clearly neither of them were expecting this. Both put their hands up.

“W—what do you want?” the man sputtered, dumbfounded. Brian was beside Alicia and pointing his own gun at the woman; she was so focused on the situation at hand that she didn’t notice him come in.

“Everybody just calm down!” Kim shouted, his voice an exact replica of when he was talking to her. “We don’t want to hurt you. We just want you to come with us.” His voice softened slightly at the end of his demand. He was certainly a good speaker.

“Why would we go with you?” snapped the woman, her eyes locked on the guns trained on her.

Kim focused his gaze on the woman. “You’ve entered someone else’s territory,” he explained. “That someone is Pollard. All we want is for you to come with us and have a little talk with him. He’ll decide on a good price for your passage; then you’ll be on your way.”

The man looked incredulous. “You want us to pay? To drive down a road? A road no one actually owns? Absolutely not!” He spit as he talked, his lips over-enunciating every word.

“Listen to them Reg,” the woman begged. “They have the guns.” Alicia didn’t like the way this was going.

Kim lowered his rifle. “Listen, I really don’t want this to be a problem. If you just come with us—”

“Like hell I’m going to come with you!” the man interrupted angrily, his face red and sweaty. He shoved his finger in Kim’s face. “I choose where my family goes, and we’re staying here!”

The man quickly reached around his back, grabbing for something, but he never got the chance. Alicia fired three quick shots, _BANG BANG BANG_ , and three red holes appeared in his shirt. The blood roared in Alicia’s ears as she watched the man fall. She barely registered the screaming—was it her own or the woman’s? She didn’t know—or the loud _pops_ of more shooting. She could only watch the man that she had just killed fall to the ground, watch his skeleton collapse to the ground, hear his head smack against the wooden floors. _Another one._ She had killed another one.

Someone was shaking her shoulder. She turned her head to find Brian’s concerned eyes looking into her own. “Are you okay?” he asked. Her gun was still pointed at the place the man had been standing. Now he was just a crumpled heap on the ground. No, not “the man.” His name was Reg; the woman had said it.

What happened to the woman? That was the thought that tore Alicia from her trance. She looked around the room and saw the woman’s body. It was collapsed in a pool of blood, and her face was a bloody mess. The two bullets that struck her had shattered her facial structure, leaving a lumpy face that could barely be recognized.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Kim finally asked, staring at the man on the floor. It was the first time Alicia had ever heard his voice shake.

“He was reaching for a gun,” was all she could manage.

Kim turned his eyes to her, and the disappointment she saw hurt more than she thought it would. She hadn’t even realized that she cared what he thought of her. He reached down and rolled Reg’s body over so his back was facing up. Alicia didn’t understand what she was seeing. There was nothing there. No gun in his waistband, nothing in his pockets, just nothing.

“I could see him,” admonished Kim. “I saw that there was nothing there. Yeah, he was combative, but you didn’t have to shoot him.” He turned on Brian. “And you.  _What was that?_ Why did you shoot her? What was she doing?” 

Brian looked at the floor. “She moved, man.  _ Fast.  _ I thought she was trying something.”

Kim laughed a bitter laugh. “She was moving because her husband was just shot in front of her!” he shouted. He shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s just go.” Alicia spared one last glance at Reg’s crumpled corpse before she followed Kim out the door.

***

As they moved supplies from Reg’s truck to their SUV, Alicia came to a realization.  _ This was who she was now.  _ She had become the kind of person who killed other people. She couldn’t say it was because of her circumstances anymore. There was too clear a pattern: Andrés at the hotel, Coop at the ranch, all those people in the bunker, the man, Inez, and Paulo in Mexico. Even André’s death could be considered her fault. Nick’s too. Now Reg and his wife. Alicia may not have shot the woman, but she was responsible for her death. The woman never would’ve moved if Alicia hadn’t killed Reg. All the death had taken its toll on Alicia. She just felt numb to it all.

Maybe it would get better once her mom found her, but when would that be? Alicia was in her third week of waiting, and there was still no sign of her. What if she came? Would Alicia be content with this life? Supply runs, the occasional murder? She couldn’t answer that question. She wouldn’t answer that question. Her mom was coming; she just had to wait a little longer.

The trip home was wordless. Too much had happened to talk about. Brian kept his eyes on the road, and Alicia and Kim kept theirs out the windows. Alicia got out when they stopped in front of her makeshift house. The newspaper stand didn’t quite feel like home, but it was the best thing that she’d had in a while. The people in town weren’t so bad, and amenities were plentiful. It wasn’t a bad place to live.

Even though it was midday and the sun was still up, Alicia collapsed onto her bed. There, she waited. She waited like she’d waited the day before, and the day before that. She waited like she’d waited for the last three weeks, like she’d keep waiting as long as it took. She waited for someone that she knew, deep down, she wasn’t ever going to see again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap! Thanks for reading and for the comments and kudos!


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